


is it raining where you are?

by YaketySax



Category: Twenty One Pilots
Genre: Anal Sex, F/M, Kinda, Long-Distance Relationship, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-16
Updated: 2016-02-16
Packaged: 2018-05-20 23:45:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6030250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YaketySax/pseuds/YaketySax
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Josh falls half-asleep to the clacking of Tyler's keyboard, but the light from the screen shines through his eyelids. "I'm talking to Jenna," Tyler says. "We're gonna Skype." </i>
</p><p>(aka, Tyler and Josh have sex on webcam for Jenna, because they're all in love and they're poly as fuck)</p>
            </blockquote>





	is it raining where you are?

**Author's Note:**

> the title is ripped from the song West Virginia by The Front Bottoms. i wrote the first section to that song and then i started writing porn and pretty much lost the theme.
> 
> i'd like to dedicate this fic to a friend of mine (they know who they are) because it was supposed to be for their birthday and it's really, really late.
> 
> ideally there would be a part two to this so...that could happen? maybe?

The air is velvet-thick and warm. It’s almost choking, enough that Josh concentrates on breathing as much as drumming. Sweat mists off his skin with every movement. Little drops catch in the stage lights, dripping from his nose to the snare. It’s like being underwater.

Tyler’s wearing white. Not a great choice--the black paint melts off his neck, soaks into his collar. He’s slipping out of that slurred-speech stage persona, eyeing the kids smashed against the barricade. Josh is keeping watch, too, scanning the crowd during quieter beats. It’s security’s job to haul people out of the pit, but Josh is under the delusion that he can help; he could point, or something. He makes faces and sticks out his tongue, trying to inspire perseverance. Someone shrieks.

The set is a damp blur. Occasionally, there are points of focus: Josh’s drum solo during ride always has a high-resolution spot in his memory. Rising over the pit, knees shaking on the bucking platform, a forest of phones blooming around him. Camera lights flashing like stars in a black, undulating sky.

It’s 70 degrees outside--chilly, compared to the venue. The trip across the parking lot is a shock. Goosebumps prick Josh’s forearms.

Josh drags himself on the bus. Tyler follows, smiling at his phone. They sit heavily on a bunk, and their combined weights make a dent that pulls their sides closer, until they’re thigh to thigh. Tyler’s still running hot. He’s a lanky furnace.

“Josh, look.” Tyler holds up his phone. “It’s snowing in Columbus.”

A picture message from Jenna glows under smudged fingerprints. She’s smiling, red-cheeked, gold hair askew and full of flurries. A bare suburban street stretches into the background, pale with new frost. Josh can almost hear the quiet. He can hear her laugh, too, tucked next to his recent drum solo in that place permanent memories live.

“Nice,” he says.

\---

It’s a hotel night. Tyler’s caught in the threshold, face-to-phone, backlit by the hallway’s fluorescent glow. Josh had slumped face first into bed five minutes ago. His shed clothes make a path that leads Tyler in the same direction.

Josh breathes into the mattress, too lazy to move until he’s inhaling the same air he’s exhaling. He turns his head, mumbles a question. “Wi-fi?”

“It’s free for two hours.” Tyler furrows his brows. “But I wanted to call Jenna.”

Josh tries to shrug. It doesn’t have the same effect, horizontally.

“I’ll wait and see, I guess.” Tyler eases the door shut and rummages through his bag. Light bleeds out from the cracks in the door frame, framing him in yellow. It's a good image to doze off to, but Tyler folds his laptop under his arm and stands after Josh’s next blink. He kicks his pants off on top of Josh’s shirt and climbs into bed, leaving a rumpled trail in the covers.

There are two beds in the room. One will be pristine tomorrow.

Josh falls half-asleep to the clacking of Tyler’s keyboard, but the light from the screen shines through his eyelids. “I’m talking to Jenna,” Tyler says. “We’re gonna Skype.”

“Okay.”

Tyler sets a hand flat between Josh’s shoulder blades. He presses aimlessly in time with the Skype jingle. Josh fights his impulse to shiver, lets it run down his back until his toes curl. Tyler doesn’t help, stroking down Josh’s spine, tracing circles into his skin.

The call connects. “Hey, Jenna,” says Tyler.

Her voice is fuzzy through the poor connection. “I miss you.” She’s not one to bother with “hi”.

Josh rolls over and sits up. He waves at the screen, ignoring Tyler’s dislodged arm when it weaves around his waist. Jenna leans forward. The crappy signal chews the video, and any subtlety in color is lost. Her face is white-blue in the monitor’s light, her shoulders are muddy amber, and her hand goes orange when she waves back.

“Josh, I can’t see you,” she says. “Get in Tyler’s lap.”

“I’m not good enough for you?” Tyler fake-pouts. He can push his lip until it sticks out an inch and a half--Josh measured, once.

Jenna snorts. “Yeah, like having Josh in your lap is such a drag. Stop making that face, dork.”

Tyler doesn’t, so Josh reaches for Tyler’s mouth, sets three fingers on his bottom lip. He tries to press the pout down, but Tyler’s lip is slick and he stares, half-lidded through long lashes. It’s a joke, probably, like that slack open-mouthed face he makes in pictures. Josh still has to pause.

He pulls his hand away and wipes it on the sheets, playing at grossed out. It’d be more convincing if he wasn’t half-hard. “So, we finally got snow?”

“Yeah, but it’s not sticking yet. I wanted to make a snowman.” Jenna frowns.

“Then, basically, you got really cold rain.” Tyler spreads his legs and shuffles back against the headboard. Josh accepts the invitation, clambers over Tyler’s knee to settle in the new space. He props the laptop on a couple of pillows.

Jenna’s got an unimpressed crease between her brows. “No. We got really warm snow.”

“That’s--” Josh rubs his eyes. “That’s the same thing.”

Tyler’s “it’s not” is perfectly synced with Jenna’s “no, it isn’t.”

Josh lets his head thunk against Tyler’s ribs.

Tyler sticks a hand in Josh’s hair and fiddles with the strands--benign, until it isn’t. Josh twitches at a hint of nails on his scalp, bites his tongue against a sound. He tries to sleep while Tyler and Jenna argue about the definitions of cold rain and warm snow. It’s futile, though, when Tyler’s other hand traces a line from his kneecap to his inner thigh.

There’s an abrupt silence in the conversation, broken by Jenna’s sigh. “Are you gonna get him off, or are you just being a jerk?”

Josh blinks.

“I was gonna.” Tyler shrugs, jostling Josh’s head. “You don’t have to rush me.”

“It’s late, and I wanna watch.” Jenna sets her chin on her hand.

Tyler’s got a passable poker face, but Josh’s ear is jammed against his ribcage, and he’s good at recognizing beats. He can hear Tyler’s interest in his heart rate.

“Fine,” Tyler says.

He sets his hand on the sides of Josh’s head. Tyler's thumbs outline Josh’s jawbone before he bends forward into a kiss. They’re mismatched, nose to chin, but Josh goes pliant and open-mouthed. He swipes his tongue along Tyler’s lips. Maybe, if he concentrates, he can taste his own fingerprints.

Tyler laughs, and the kiss fractures, though Josh doesn’t disconnect; he mouths under Tyler’s jaw, licks along his neck. “Hold on,” Tyler says. “My back is gonna break, dude. Sit up.”

Josh pushes himself up, gripping Tyler’s thighs for leverage. He’s glad for the suggestion--Tyler’s hard, a familiar pressure against Josh’s hip. He presses his mouth shut, hiding his grin from the video feed. The edges of Jenna’s smile tug up into a smirk.

Tyler’s breath changes--a deeper inhale, a harsher exhale--and he slips out of bed.

“What?” Josh drops his hands. He relives the feeling of Tyler’s skin, a phantom heat on his fingertips, missing what he had twenty seconds ago.

Tyler’s digging in his suitcase, too far away. “I need stuff.”

“I have to do everything myself.” Jenna rolls her eyes. “Josh. Remember the last night before tour?”

The memories boil up in Josh’s brain: Jenna gripping the headboard. Her thighs around his ears. The way his jaw ached for hours, after. The way she strained around his tongue. He wants a hand on his dick, but he waits, fists in the sheets. Jenna tugs her shirt off, unhooks her black bra. His knuckles go white. The webcam’s butchering the image, but knows that behind the high contrast there’s a soft play of light across Jenna’s chest. He remembers how the skin there tastes.

“I miss your mouth.” Jenna’s right hand dips below the camera.

There are no theatrics. Just Jenna, a hint of teeth on her bottom lip, hooded eyes and a face flushed pink.

Josh eyes the bottom of the screen. Everything past the bend of Jenna’s elbow is cut off, but he can see subtle motion. There's tension in her shoulder and collarbones. He’d give a lot of money to have a wider webcam--he’d give a lot of money to be touched. His dick twitches.

“I found it,” says Tyler, voice muffled. He kneels behind Josh, grinning around the packaged condom in his mouth. There’s a travel size bottle of lube in his hand.

Josh turns, eyes the foil glinting between Tyler’s teeth. He tries not to sound hopeful. “You had plans, huh?” He straddles Tyler, grinds down in a movement that’s nearly subconscious--a needy instinct. The condom falls from Tyler’s mouth.

“Hey,” says Tyler, “I’ve got you.” He runs a hand down Josh’s side, barely grazing, and Josh bites hard on his tongue.

Josh sticks a hand up Tyler’s shirt. “Come on.” He yanks at the hem, and when Tyler moves to pull the shirt off, Josh dips his fingers below Tyler’s waistband. His palm skims Tyler’s stomach, and he lightens the touch so that he can feel a stifled shudder.

“Have you been fucking him at all while you’re touring?” Jenna laughs. “He’s pretty touchy tonight.”

“Yeah, I have.” Tyler swallows, and Josh curls his fingers in Tyler’s boxers, tugging down.

Josh slides them to Tyler’s knees. “No. He hasn't. ”

Tyler scoffs. “Two days ago, in the dressing room?”

“That was a handjob.” Josh adjusts so that he can slide his own boxers off. His teeth clack audibly when he shuts his mouth--even the muted friction from the fabric feels good. It takes him by surprise.

“A week ago. That other hotel,” Tyler tries.

“You did--you did blow me,” Josh says, half-choked when Tyler scratches down his hipbone.

Tyler huffs. “Right.” He laces his fingers in Josh’s hair. “In the closet, after that interview?”

Josh slides his hand to the center of Tyler’s chest, spreads his fingers until his pinky hovers over Tyler’s heartbeat. “I fucked you.”

“Shit,” says Tyler, barely above a whisper, smiling through his words. “Guess you need this pretty bad.”

Josh laughs, quick and harsh in his throat. “Maybe.”

“Tyler, don’t be an asshole.” Jenna’s eyes run sharp over Josh, over Tyler’s teasing hands.

When Jenna fingers Josh, she’s a little temperamental. It's never uncomfortable, but she’s got a push-and-pull attitude; teasing lightly when Josh grinds down, pressing in when he’s pausing to rest. She always has Josh writing, panting, chasing hints of perfect pressure. He's scrutinized under her blue eyes, like she can see right down to his bones.

Tyler, for all his skill on piano, isn’t so instrumental about it. He uncaps the lube and spills it all down his palm and wrist. There’s a big, shiny trail, like the fresh tracks of a slug.

“Ew,” says Josh.

Tyler flips him off with a sopping middle finger.

“Tyler,” says Jenna, “I have to be up early tomorrow.”

Josh opens his mouth to agree, but his breath catches and his thighs twitch. Tyler’s inching his index finger inside. The sensation’s not fantastic, but it’s not unfamiliar. Gotta wait until it gets good. Josh focuses on breathing, letting himself stretch. Then Tyler grabs his dick, his heart shoots up in his throat. He’s gasping around his pulse, hunched forward into Tyler’s shoulder. “Fuck.” Only a light touch, and he’s leaking all over Tyler’s knuckles.

So, Tyler doesn’t have Jenna’s finesse, but he’s got the timing down fine.

Josh grips Tyler’s arms with stiff hands and jumping tendons, hoping he isn’t (hoping he is) leaving bruises. He rocks back and forth with stuttering hips. Each twist of Tyler’s fingers forces a hot breath from his chest. He clears out his lungs between whispered curses. There’s not enough air in the room.

It takes a while for Josh to ask--but he glances at the laptop, sees Jenna shaking around her own hand, and he needs more. All he says is “please,” quietly, under the breath he can’t catch.

“Yeah, okay.” Tyler’s gravelly. Sounds like he just sang four sets. He sweeps his hands over the sheets, smiling when there’s a scrunch of foil. Josh sits back, something rapt in his silence, even when Tyler fumbles the package open. He rolls the condom on, exhaling through his nose.

“C’mere,” says Tyler--but Josh is lining himself up before Tyler gets the word out, sinking down in careful half-inches.

“You’re so perfect for that.” Jenna’s voice is thin. Josh checks the screen. A couple damp strands of hair cling to Jenna’s forehead, and there’s a stain of red across her cheeks. Tyler shifts his hips. Josh shuts his eyes.

Tyler laughs, and the movement has Josh seeing stars. “Did you--”

Jenna cuts him off. “Yeah, once.”

There’s a clearly implied “twice” in the future. Josh breathes in, out, tries to think about old shoes, or his grandma. 

Tyler’s slow, irregular grind is hard to ignore. He’s got Josh’s dick in a loose fist, spilled lube going warm between his slack fingers. Josh bites his tongue. It’s only a little resistance to Josh’s movements, hints of friction that Josh has to work for.

“Tyler, come on.” Josh smiles, like it’s a joke.

Tyler stares. He’d be impassive if he wasn’t breathing so hard.

“Tyler.” Josh stops smiling.

Tyler’s lips quirk.

Josh swallows. He wants the magic word again. “Please.”

Tyler responds with a deep, languid thrust. Josh tightens his hands around Tyler’s arms, loosens them in the next heartbeat, trails his palms down Tyler’s stomach and back. “God.” The word’s snatched from the back of Josh’s throat. 

Tyler’s hand tightens around Josh’s dick. Josh falls forward, groaning into Tyler’s neck. His nerves are scorching, sensitive, and minute sensations (a light breeze, the drip of sweat on his forehead) burn into his skin. He rides Tyler reverently, open-mouthed. He’s making noise, probably, but he can’t hear much beyond his own pulse.

“You’re gorgeous,” says Jenna, tinny through laptop speakers. “Both of you.”

Josh looks down. Tyler’s eyes are shut, lashes stark on his flushed face, and his mouth is so red.

He comes for what feels like a month.

Josh blinks, after a while, and Tyler’s still moving. Little, desperate breaths accompany each thrust. He’s digging marks into Josh’s hips. Josh has that airless feeling again, like he’s floating in space, shorted-out nerve endings sparking. 

Tyler stills. He always sounds startled when he comes--he makes a noise that he’ll swear up and down isn’t a yelp. Josh thinks it’s close to a yelp, but more lyrical (and Jenna thinks that he’s being sentimental.) It’s just the top of a crescendo, a pitch that winds down as Tyler breathes.

“Oh, god,” says Jenna, “I have to be up in four hours.”

Josh slides out of Tyler’s lap. “Blame Tyler.” He’ll grab a towel when he remembers how to stand.

Tyler ties off the condom. He shoots for the trash can across the room, and misses.

Jenna laughs. “I know you were into basketball, but don’t quit your day job.”

“Whatever.” Tyler shrugs.

His post-coital laziness is infectious. Josh flops by Tyler’s side, tossing an arm over his chest.

“You’ll call me at five tomorrow, yeah?” Jenna’s standing, now, raising the laptop--all the camera registers is a grainy blur.

“Yeah,” says Josh, in unison with Tyler’s “Duh.”

\---

The next morning, Josh sets Jenna’s picture as his phone background. Josh frowns, shuffling apps until her grin is unobstructed. Twitter’s blocking the empty street, and YouTube’s cutting off part of her hair, but her eyes are clear.

 

“We’re home in three weeks, I think,” Tyler says, watching over Josh’s shoulder.

**Author's Note:**

> if y'all have fic ideas let me know because i really want to write more in general. absolutely no guarantee that i can get to them though!


End file.
